“Thanks,” Aria said, trying to disguise her distrust with openness. She put the card into her pocket.

“You two come back and see me now,” Imani said, carefully handing each of them their chili and care packages.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Taylor said. Aria just smiled and nodded her head to indicate that she had heard her. Imani felt the relief of knowing that her first attempt to establish connection with Aria had successfully landed.

Imani was a social worker on a mission, on several missions in fact. Her sense of purpose in the world had replaced the conscious need for a partner or any other form of support for that matter. She was a member of the church, where she handed out lunch to the homeless on most days of the week. Every morning and also at unexpected times, when crises occurred, Imani had her hands full with her work at a family services center in one of the worst parts of town. In the afternoons, she went home to her two-bedroom apartment, to take care of her family members that were incapable of taking care of themselves, much less each other.

It seemed to Imani that all she did was manage crises, whether it was in her professional life or in her private life. In fact, handing out food to the homeless and attending church were the two most stress-free facets of her life. When the state found Imani’s sister to be unfit to take care of her three kids, their custody was passed to Imani’s mother, the children’s grandmother, who was progressively being rusted through by both diabetes and heart disease. Now, one year later, Imani found herself sleeping on her own pull-out couch and caretaking all of them. Because of this, Imani had no spare time to speak of. She had no other choice than to be strong. Her moral heart had made self-sacrifice its bedrock. The fact was that Imani took care of everyone in her life.

In common with many of her background and culture, Imani was a God-fearing woman. But she wore her faith with more self-effacing grace than others. She believed in every fiber of her being that Jesus cared for all his children and did so in mysterious ways. Her faith was so deep and unshakable that she was not troubled with doubtful questions about the ways in which this “care” happened. When tragedy struck, which it so often did around her, she knew it was not God that was mistaken but she that could not grasp the full picture. In her wallet, she carried a paper, now crinkled from years of use, that said, Faith only occurs in the absence of knowing. It was her favorite quote and she lived her life by it.